


Can You Hear Me

by doctormccoy



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Post-BOFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormccoy/pseuds/doctormccoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin brands Bilbo a betrayer and banishes him from the mountain in an attempt to keep the hobbit carrying his child from fighting in the battle to come. But when he finds his body, pale and unmoving, on the battlefield, what will he be willing to give up to bring him back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Hear Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThilboBagginshield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThilboBagginshield/gifts).



> Commission delivery for [bilboings!](http://bilboings.tumblr.com/) Title taken from [this song.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=I2PmwSgkHUI&feature=endscreen)
> 
> This wasn't supposed to be quite as angsty as it was, but there you have it.

Cold.

Thorin remembered feeling cold. Not the sort of cold one gets from going outside in the winter without proper dress, no.

This was the kind of cold no amount of clothing could ever protect you from.

The kind of cold that froze you from the inside out, and left you gasping for air.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be safe, behind the armies of Men and Elves.

He wasn't supposed to be _here._

"Bilbo."

The word slipped from his lips like a sigh, causing Dwalin to look up from where they'd been searching for survivors amongst the piles of corpses that littered the land in front of Erebor.

"Thorin?"

The larger dwarf had never seen his friend ever look quite so pale as he did now. Perhaps he had finally realized the deaths that he had inadvertently caused by waging war over something as useless as the Arkenstone, sign of divine right to rule or not. But then he hears it, too. Thorin's name on the wind, as if the very earth were mocking the King's folly, as well. 

Thorin takes off at a run, stumbling across bodies and furrows left by eagle claws, following the voice on the wind. 

And then he comes to a dead stop with such suddenness that Dwalin almost bowls him over, listening once more like a hunter tracking a deer through the forest. That same wailing cry, closer now but still so very faint, and this time it's Dwalin's turn to be dumbstruck. 

He wasn't supposed to be here.

"My King-"

But Thorin's gone again, leaping through the corpses like a Mahal cursed horse, leaving Dwalin scrambling to catch up even with the advantage of his longer legs. Despite his injuries, the Durin is moving as if wargs are snapping at his heels in the direction of that voice and Dwalin sends a silent prayer to the Maker that when they find him it isn't too late.

He didn't think he had it in him to watch the dwarf King fall to pieces, not now, not after everything they'd seen today.

And then Thorin suddenly disappears from the horizon and Dwalin pushes himself to go faster, while simultaneously preparing himself for the worst. Out of the corner of his vision he sees Fili, sprinting with all the grace of an Elf through the body riddled field towards them, and Dwalin has an inkling that Thorin's eldest nephew knows what he might see.

Thorin's grief stricken roar is what greets them when they both converge upon where the dwarf had fallen to his knees, the body of one much smaller than those around it cradled in his arms. Dwalin catches a glimpse of a too familiar blue waist coat under Thorin's elbow, and his heart plummets into his stomach, an expression of anguish on his face to match the one on Fili's.

The blond sinks to his knees in front of his Uncle and cups Bilbo's face ( _so pale, so very pale, oh Mahal_ ) between his palms, rubbing his cheeks briskly to try and bring back some of the colour.

"Bilbo.. Bilbo, wake up. Bilbo!" he's begging, sliding a hand into those curls ( _they're supposed to be blond why has he coloured his hair red, Uncle?_ ) to feel for a wound, whimpering softly when he withdraws his fingers to see them stained with crimson liquid, falling back into the dirt with a soft thud. They had all received injuries of course, and Kili was currently being seen by Oin for a badly broken arm, but head wounds were bad. Not everyone could come back from a head wound.

Thorin is snarling with desperation and he shakes Bilbo in his arms, slapping his hand against the halfling's cheek to try to stir him, desperate to see anything, any sign of life that would ease the despair settling in his chest. 

"Mahal, Aulë... Eru Ilúvatar, himself!" Thorin whispered suddenly, rocking the tiny body of the halfling and the unborn child he bears within him ( _his child, blessed Creator, please, he carries their child_ ) in his arms, cradling his palm against his cheek.

"Whomever of you may be listening.. You cannot have him. You cannot have my hobbit. Can you hear me!? You cannot have my hobbit!" 

He's screaming at the skies, as if expecting the Maker and the Creator to come down and answer him in person, making Dwalin's head hang. Their King truly had gone insane with the grief of losing Bilbo and the child.

"Are you listening?! He's mine! Take your Arkenstone, take your divinity, take it all!"

His voice falls to a whisper, his face buried in a bed of blood stained curls, clutching Bilbo to his chest.

"I have no use for any of it if he is not with me."

Silence.

Thorin has his answer.

He screams his heartbreak to the empty skies, and Fili hangs his head, burying his face into hands that are stained with Bilbo's blood. He'd failed the hobbit. They all had. 

"Thorin.. What exactly is all this fuss about?"

Fili is sure that Orc hammer must have hit him harder than he thought, because that sounds an awful lot like-

"Bilbo."

Thorin says the word like a prayer, drawing back to stare at the hobbit in his arms in shock, tears tracking through the dirt and blood on his cheeks. And Bilbo, blessed, beautiful, ever resilient Bilbo, is staring back at him, looking supremely unhappy about another ruined waistcoat and wincing at the tightening of Thorin's arms against his injuries, but otherwise still among the living. 

"You're alive," Fili breathes, awestruck as he takes in the hobbit's appearance. While it's likely he has a few broken ribs, from the ginger way Bilbo is holding his chest, a bump on his head and several cuts that need cleaning, he actually looks.. whole and healthy. The colour had come back to his cheeks, even.

Bilbo stares at him for a moment, gaze flitting between the two Durins, and then over to Dwalin.

"Was I... not supposed to be?" he asked slowly, tensing in Thorin's arms. Was the dwarf still angry with him for giving the Arkenstone to Bard? He puffs up in indignation at this and jabs a finger at Thorin before the dwarf can speak.

"You listen here, I was only doing what was in your best interest, and the best interest of our child! You were supposed to trade my part of the treasure for the stone, and then there'd be peace, and that'd be the end of it, but no! I forgot to factor in the thrice damned stubbornness of dwarves!" he protested, waving his hands above his head in exasperation. He opens his mouth to continue his defensive rant when Thorin's suddenly crushing his lips to his, clutching him to his chest so tight Fili was worried he'd break more of Bilbo's ribs.

Bilbo seems speechless when Thorin finally lets him go again, and flushes clear to the tips of his ears at the look on his face, coughing awkwardly before he's resting a hand on the swell of his belly.

"Yes. Well. I'm glad you finally figured out I'm on your side, then," he grumbled, earning a warm chuckle from the dwarf King. Thorin's cradling him in his grasp with all the reverence of a mother with a newborn, and Bilbo's eyebrows knit in confusion, letting the other press soft kisses over his forehead and in his filthy hair.

"Did you really think I was dead?" Bilbo asked slowly, starting to put the pieces together between Fili's ecstatic expression, Dwalin's relieved smile, and Thorin's inability to stop kissing him for half a second.

"You were so pale when we found you, Bilbo, and covered in blood. You weren't even breathing," Fili told him, his voice soft as if he feared being too loud would make the hobbit go still again.

"The look of death was upon you."

Bilbo pursed his lips at that and nodded jerkily, letting Thorin's hands rub over his belly only because it seemed to calm the dwarf down, even if the gesture is embarrassingly intimate in front of the other two dwarves.

"I. Well, I couldn't just sit on my heels and let you all be stupid and go off to die on your own. Bard will be furious, I expect, when he finds out I escaped that room he locked me in," the hobbit mused, earning a bark of laughter from Dwalin. Their respectable little Bilbo Baggins of the Shire had gone off and become a proper burglar after all, it seemed.

Bilbo's ears pinked again at that, but he squared his jaw off and looked quite pleased with himself, though the image was ruined a bit by Thorin capturing him in another kiss. He only resists for a brief moment, though, before relaxing into it, sliding dirty fingers into equally dirty black tangled hair. After being convinced for days that he would be cast aside for the beauty of the Arkenstone, he had to admit it was nice to be the focus of Thorin's attention again.

But then Bilbo's yelping with dismay when he's suddenly hoisted upwards as the dwarf King stands, still held tight in his arms. He squirms to be put down, insisting he is quite capable of walking thank you very much, and only stills when Thorin starts chuckling, an indignant flush to his cheeks.

"Oh yes, very funny. Carrying me about like this, as if I were a damsel in distress. You know full well the company will never let me live it down if they see me like this!" he's protesting, but there's not much fire to it and he slowly quiets down, letting Thorin hold him close while he picks his way, much slower than before, over the bodies and debris. After all, now he's bearing extremely precious cargo. 

He's silent for a long while as they make their way towards the mass of tents at the edge of the destruction, watching Fili's back as Thorin's eldest nephew finds the easiest path.

"I remember, sort of. This dream I had when I was knocked unconscious," he says suddenly, making Dwalin snort with amusement from behind the dwarf King, protecting his back in case any of the bodies had fight left in them.

Bilbo rolls his eyes and settles his hand over the pocket of his coat, feeling the solid circle of the ring there.

"I'd had to make myself visible again, so I wasn't accidentally hit by someone on our side. Again. And it didn't take long before something caught me on the back of the head and knocked me to the ground. When I got back up, I was in the middle of a field. Sort of like Farmer Maggot's, back in the Shire, large and open, and the breeze was so lovely. I felt like I was floating, almost. It was certainly the cleanest I'd been since we left Beorn's," Bilbo murmured, looking distant while Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a look of confusion. 

If Bilbo had been unconscious, then who belonged to the voice that had called them to his side?

The hobbit wasn't finished, though, tapping his chin thoughtfully as he tried to think. The memory was like water slipping through his fingers, getting fuzzier with every passing second.

"And there was a voice calling to me. Two voices.. One that called me forward, and another that called me back, at first. And to go forward just seemed to easy, so natural, and I followed the voice. But then it was like a hand on my shoulder pushed me back the way I came, and it was suddenly telling me I was to go back again. I couldn't come this way, not yet. And then I woke up and you were all looking at me like the world had ended."

He paused, looking scandalized as he stared at Fili's back.

"Kili is alright, isn't he? He survived the battle?" he demanded, causing the blond dwarf to turn around and smile at him, warm and reassuring and everything the hobbit had come to associate with Thorin's nephews.

"He lives. Many lives were lost this day, but the company has survived more or less intact, though Kili is going to be insufferable for the next moon cycle as his arm heals and he cannot spar or shoot." 

Bilbo relaxes at that and sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. It had been a very trying day, but at least his friends and loved ones had survived.

He misses the look of astonishment that the three dwarves share, Thorin especially, and perhaps even touched with fear. It sounded like Bilbo Baggins truly had died, then. So who -- or what -- had brought him back? Was it the same thing that had summoned Thorin to his side?

When Thorin strides back into camp and settles Bilbo into a cot for Oin to look at the hobbit's many cuts and scrapes, he turns to find himself faced with Bard, who looks grim but all in one piece, at least.

"King Thorin. I have some.. grave news to impart, concerning your Arkenstone," Bard began, but Thorin cuts him off with a wave of his hand, turning to settle his gaze on his hobbit. Bilbo seems to be holding his breath, staring up at Thorin intently, waiting for his answer, waiting to see where he stood.

"Keep it. I have no further use for it," he orders, and it's worth the loss of his family's heirloom to see the relief and happiness spreading across Bilbo's face. The dwarf King had no use for a shiny lump of rock. He had his Arkenstone, already, and it was much, much, more beloved by him than the original.

Bard clears his throat to catch his attention again, Thorin's eyes cutting sharply to him.

"Speak," he barks, hand resting protectively over the rise of Bilbo's stomach.

The human archer is shifting on his feet before he stiffens and stands up straight, staring firmly back at Thorin.

"It has gone missing and no one can seem to locate it," he told him slowly, and is surprised at the way this makes the dwarf shudder and hold onto the edge of the cot for support, and at the wide eyed, open mouthed stares of the other two that had accompanied him.

Bilbo only seems confused by this, so Bard wisely does not press Thorin for an explanation, waiting patiently for the dwarf to recollect himself.

"Yes. Well. Search for it if you wish, but I have no desire for it. I hope it stays lost until the end of time," Thorin murmurs, and Bard senses the dismissal in those words. He nods his head to the King and to Bilbo, glad to see that the hobbit had fared well despite disobeying his direct orders, and moves off to find his men and end the search for the stone. 

"Thorin.. What was that all about?" Bilbo asked, sounding painfully curious. He'd never seen the King look quite so... well, quite so dumbstruck. He blinks when he's answered by a warm, rumbling chuckle and Thorin turns to look down at him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the swell of his belly, where the real heart of the mountain was growing.

"Do not let it concern you, Bilbo. Just focus on getting well again, so I can show you around your new home." 

That night, Thorin finds he is unable to sleep as he cradles the sleeping form of his hobbit against his chest, face buried into the bed of soft curls, still damp from their bath. They were both curled on a bedroll in the tent they had been given, letting the limited number of cots be given to those who were injured, and Thorin found the familiarity of it oddly reassuring. He didn't quite understand what had occurred this afternoon, and Dwalin and Fili had both sworn to never speak of it again, but, whatever it was, Thorin was achingly grateful to it for returning his beloved to him.

"Thank you," he murmurs to no one in particular, and senses the faint brush of a breeze against his forehead, eyes suddenly feeling heavy. He falls asleep to a soft chuckle on the wind, and a voice whispering _treasure them always, child of Aulë,_ against his cheek.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Heart Beats Fast, Colors and Promises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/755531) by [ThilboBagginshield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThilboBagginshield/pseuds/ThilboBagginshield)




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